


The problem with coming off junk

by Bellelaide



Series: Junk Dilemmas #13 [1]
Category: Trainspotting
Genre: Edinburgh, M/M, T2, trainspotting - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: Renton and Sick Boy don't know what to do with their rediscovered libidos





	

1985 

They'd been off junk for a week now. There was none anymore, was the thing, and that meant the inevitable sobering up; being reacquainted with the body's aches and pains and, of course, the raging return of their sex drives. 

They were in the Monty street flat, Sick boy on the sofa, Renton on the floor, jittering and staring at the walls in silence. 

"Am away out." Sick Boy suddenly sprang up, patting his pockets for his keys. 

"Where?" Renton asked, eyes flickering up to meet his best friend's. 

"Dunno. See Alison or somebody. Ye ken how it is," he motions at his midriff, "You must be feelin it anaw." 

Renton's eyes drop slowly to Sick Boy's fly and slowly back up again, his mouth suddenly dry. He wants to ask him not to go, to stay here and ride out the sickness together, but he never would. How fucking weird would he look anyway, asking him not to go out and get his hole, just because Renton couldn't? 

"Awright. Eh, enjoy." He grunted, his eyes returning to the peeling wallpaper as Sick Boy stepped over him and out of the flat, the door banging shut behind him. 

\-------

It wasn't that he felt sorry for Renton, per se, it was more that he empathised with how horny he must be feeling and knew how unappealing he was to the female race in his junky state. 

It was no problem for Sick Boy, he was never short of fanny to get in about, junky or not. It wasn't his fault folk thought he was stunning, 100% of the time, in fact it was sometimes a curse, no being taken seriously because of how good looking he was. 

He mused over his misfortunate good looks as he traipsed through the drizzle to Alison's flat, nerves singing in anticipation of finally getting his hole after months of being skagged up on someone's living room floor. 

He chapped her door and flashed his most disarming grin when she answered in her dressing gown, herself experiencing the sickness of junk deprival. 

"Simon?" She peered at him suspiciously. 

"Kin a come in babe?" He murmured, looking her from head to toe as though she was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life. 

"Aye, what's up?" She asked, "Av no got any gear but, av told ye that." 

Sick Boy tutted and put his hand on her waist. "Of course am no here for that. Am off that shit, it's nae gid for us. Am here because av missed ye." 

Her eyes dropped to the floor, a flush creeping up her neck. "Av missed you too, aye. How's - " 

He cut her off with his mouth, forcing his tongue into her, almost - almost - having forgotten the rhythms of a good old winch. 

They stumbled into her bedroom, Sick Boy pulling his t-shirt over his head and fumbling with the tie of her dressing gown. She lay on the bed and he slid to his knees in front of her, staring at her nakedness before him and remembering a story Renton had told him about some Aberdeen prostitute. He was some boy, taking head classes from a prozzy, exchanging classes about F Scott Fitzgerald from a prestigious uni for - 

Sick Boy shook his head and mentally reprimanded himself for thinking about his best pal when he had a woman lying in front of him, keen as a fucking badger and gasping on his touch. 

He set about his task with vigour, really laying into it, Alison's fingers tugging his hair desperately and her cries filling his ears. 

He couldn't get Mark out of his head. 

Okay, maybe he did feel sorry for him. That's what this was, he felt sorry for his best pal, stuck at home staring at the grotty wall paper with no outlet but his own scrawny wee fist. 

Sick Boy attempted to flush thoughts of Renton out of his mind a while longer, really eating Alison like his life depended on it, aware of how soft his dick was in his jeans. 

He knew this was going nowhere and he sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. 

"Simon?" Alison sat up, confusion on her face. 

"Ali... am sorry. I canny... it's been that long ae, I thought it was what a wanted..." He can't look at her, he's fucking mortified. This doesn't happen to him, not ever, and he's pissed off. 

"Its awright..." she said, tugging her dressing gown around her shoulders. "Dae ye want to lie the gither for a bit?" 

"Naw Ali, av goat to get back. Please dinny... eh, don't tell anyone about this. It's the junk, it's a fucking nightmare..." 

She smiled at him sadly and nodded. "Nah of course a wouldn't. Let me ken when you're feeling better ae?" 

He stood up and pulled his t-shirt back on, kissing her on the top of the head. 

"See ye later wee yin." He got up and tore out the flat, pissed off at himself for letting that wee ginger fucker get into his head. 

\------ 

Renton fucking resented Sick Boy sometimes, how he could just get up and be shagging some bird within half an hour of deciding that was what he was after. 

It wasn't that Mark hadn't had options in the past, there was Fiona and obviously Hazel and he was sure he could pull some of the lassies that hung about in Swanney's gaff, but just now he doubted anyone would touch him with a ten foot barge pole - he was absolutely stinking and his personality when he was sick left much to be desired. 

He hauled himself up and into their grotty bathroom, flicking on the shower and getting his kit off. 

The shower was as powerful as a plastic bag trying to knock over a block of flats, and he was fucking freezing as he used their lone bar of soap to wash his hair and body. 

He looked down at his cock, running his hands over it slowly. It instantly began to fatten up having been neglected for a magnificent stretch of time. 

He started tugging himself off, the thin spray of the shower doing nothing to quell the goosebumps that broke out across his pale skin. He was getting into it, one arm braced against the wall, trying to think of Fiona from the uni but unable to stop the Image of Sick Boy shagging whoever he was with creeping into his mind. 

He heard the front door bang open through the sound of his thudding heart beat and dropped himself instantly, croaking "Hello?!" And fumbling to switch the shower off, wrapping himself in a towel. 

"Aye it's me," Sick Boy shouted back, "Alison wasny in." 

"That's shite man. What about wee Maria?" Renton called back, willing his erection to get so far to fuck now that he wasn't alone, shame creeping up his spine as he remembered where his thoughts had just drifted to. 

"Nah, didny fancy it. Wit ye dain? Wanty watch telly or that?" 

Renton pulled open the bathroom door and glared at him. "Fuckin telly? You awrite?" 

Sick Boy tried in earnest not to look at the tenting in Renton's towel, he did, but he couldn't help his eyes flickering of their own accord. 

"'Ye ken how it is', you said." Renton huffed through gritted teeth. "Stoap judgin us." 

Sick Boy shook his head quickly, taking a step forward. "Naw of course no, fuck sake, dinny be stupid. A just thought, like... if you wanted like, I just thought it wid dae ye a favour if a helped ye out or that, obviously yer ma best mate so a want to help ye ken, no that a -" 

Renton narrowed his eyes and barked "Ye want to fuckin wit?! Did a just hear ye right?!" His face was screwed up in mock disgust - he wasn't gay, he didn't need his pal's help getting off. "A was dain fine masel and am no fucking gay ya cunt!" He hissed, despite the hardness under his towel going absolutely nowhere. 

"Fucking hell Rents a ken that, think a dinny ken that? A just mean that seeing as a canny find anycunt and am assuming neither kin you it'd be a favour tae us both like, just a handy like nuthin wild, but naw, yev got to get aw uptight as usual, greetin away as fuckin per - "

Renton pushed past him and into their shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him and trying to assemble his thoughts over the roaring in his ears. 

He threw on some tracky bottoms and an old t-shirt and walked into the living room, thankful his hard on had shrunk to a respectable semi in the last five minutes. 

Sick Boy was on the couch, flicking through the telly channels, rigid as fuck but trying to appear like he didn't give a fuck that he'd just offered to get his best friend off. 

"Are you taking the piss ootay me?" Renton asked in the door frame, suddenly aware of how small the room was and how awkwardly he had handled the situation. 

"Of course not, geez some fuckin credit. Am sorry a mentioned it, a just thought it wid be awright, a one time thing just when we're coming through this fuckin drought the now. Sit doon and forget a said anythin, fur the love ae god." 

Renton didn't reply, just sat next to his pal on the couch with his legs tucked under neath him, attempting to stay far away from Sick Boy's huge presence. 

They sat like that for a couple of hours, eventually loosening up as they joked about whatever pish was on telly that night. 

Flashdance came on channel four at 9pm, and they took the piss out of that for a while until they got quite into it. Neither of them had seen it before and it wasn't long before Jennifer Beals had Renton's cock stirring in his trackies again. 

He begged it to go away in his mind, hyper aware of Sick Boy next to him, arms spread out along the back of the sofa, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was panicking a wee bit, and his heart was beating faster, causing his dick to fatten up quickly. He was just about panicking, what if Sick Boy thought it was because of him? When Sick Boy murmured "Rents," gently, his eyes boring into the side of Renton's face. 

He looked slowly round at him, his big blue eyes soft and imploring. He seemed friendly enough, and Renton didn't think it was one of his pranks - it couldn't be, because he'd just be implicating himself with the buftie rep as much as Mark. 

"Am no gay," is all Renton could whisper, unable to take his eyes away from Sick Boy's as the latter man's pupils slowly dilated. 

"A know that. It's no like that, av telt ye. A want to help ye." 

"A don't need you to feel sorry for me," Renton spoke quickly, suddenly offended. "Dinny dae it cos ye feel sorry fir us." 

"Of course a fuckin don't ya mad bastard," Sick Boy spoke, his hands untying Renton's thread bare tracksuit bottoms. "Shift forward a bit." He commanded, and Renton slid further into Sick Boy's space, his neck resting on the back of the couch. 

His dick was so interested it was embarrassing, popping out of his bottoms in a wave of angry redness and curving hardness. 

He gasped as Simon's hand wrapped around him, closing his eyes, trying so fucking hard to imagine a lassie, any lassie, and failing miserably. His senses were engulfed in Sick Boy, the feeling of his hand tugging his swollen cock, his warm smell brushing up his nostrils, his slow whispered encouragements reverberating around his skull. 

"Yer really fuckin hot like this," Sick Boy found himself whispering, staring at Renton's closed eyes and the way his breaths jack hammered out of his mouth. "Yer so hot fur it, jesus fuck." 

"Shut the fuck up." Renton wheezed through gritted teeth, unable to stop his left hand from gripping a handful of Sick Boy's hair, needing something to anchor him before he lost his mind. 

Sick Boy moaned when Renton pulled his hair and that was it, Renton was shooting all over both of them, breath caught in his throat and his mouth silently forming the word "Simon" as he felt months of pent up tension leave his body. 

They sat in silence for a couple of moments, Sick Boy wiping his hand off on Renton's T-Shirt, staring at his face for any sign of movement. 

Embarrassment started to creep up Renton's throat as he came down from his high, painfully aware that he had just let his best friend pull him off and came all over them both. 

He cracked open an eye and nearly lost his breath at the sight of Sick Boy - his eyes were blown, his mouth hanging open as he pulled raggedy breaths through his lips, his hair messed to fuck and the long line of his dick evident in his scruffy jeans. 

"Do - dae ye want me to...?" Renton could hardly hold eye contact with him, slowly stuffing his own spent dick back into his trousers. 

"Nah man, nut dinny worry," Sick Boy garbled, face breaking into a belated grin that didn't meet his eyes. "Now ye kin see why the ladies love us!" He tried to joke, standing up and attempting to put as much space as possible between them both. 

"Am away out to ma ma's for ma dinner anyway Rents, al see ye later oan if yer still up?" He spoke quickly, shrugging on his jacket, some of Renton's come still on the bottom of his t-shirt. 

"Simon wait -" 

"Al see ye later right! Catch ye shortly!" He bounced out the door before Renton could even get his thoughts together, tearing away from one of the weirdest things he'd ever done. 

Renton gazed dazedly at the peeling wall paper again, hoping beyond hope things wouldn't get weird after this. What the fuck had they just done?


End file.
